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On September 28, 1957, the Mike Wallace Interview show aired the second half of a two-part interview with visionary architect and iconoclast Frank Lloyd Wright. Mike introduced Wright as “perhaps the greatest architect of the twentieth century . . . and in the opinion of some, America’s foremost social rebel. Fellow architects have called him everything, from a great poet to an insupportable windbag. The clergy has deplored his morals, creditors have deplored his financial habits, politicians, his opinions.” Wallace’s questions ranged over a variety of topics – from politics, to religion, to morality, to architecture – seeking Wright’s opinions and at the same time hoping to provoke him into outrageous statements. Wright displayed a witty, canny intelligence. He was well up to the task of handling “fishing” questions, revealing just as much as he wanted to and no more, while actually getting Mike to laugh at himself once or twice. The following are some gems from an entertaining interview which may have intrigued, irritated, and amused the American viewing audience.

Wallace: “I’d like to chart your attitudes specifically . . . first of all, organized religion.”
Wright: “Why organize it? Christianity doesn’t need organizing according to the Master of it, the great master poet of all time didn’t want it organized, did he? Didn’t Jesus say that wherever a few are gathered in my name, there is my Church? I’ve always considered myself deeply religious.”

Wallace: “Do you go to any specific church?”
Wright: “Yes, I go occasionally to this one, and then sometimes to that one, but my church I put a capital N on nature and go there. You spell God with a capital G, don’t you? I spell Nature with an N, capital.”

Wright: “I’m against war. Always have been, always will be. And everything connected with it, is anathema to me. I have never considered it necessary. And I think that one war only breeds another.”

Wright: “I think the common man is responsible for the drift toward conformity now. It’s going to ruin our democracy, and is not according to our democratic faith. I believe our democracy was Thomas Jefferson’s idea. I mean I think Thomas Jefferson’s idea was the right idea, but we were headed for a genuine aristocracy. An aristocracy that was innate, on the man, not of him, not his by privilege, but his by virtue of his own virtue, his own conscience, his own quality, and that by that we were going to have the rule of the bravest and the best. But now that common man is becoming a little jealous of the uncommon man . . . . He’s a block to progress.”

Wallace: “I understand that last week in all seriousness you said, ‘If I had another fifteen years to work I could rebuild this entire country, I could change the nation.”
Wright: “I did say that. And it’s true. Having had now the experience of going with the building of seven hundred and sixty-nine buildings, it’s quite easy for me to shake them out of my sleeve, and it’s amazing what I could do for this country. . . . I don’t think the mob knows anything about architecture, cares anything about it.”

Wallace: “Is the nation’s youth a mob?”
Wright: “No. I believe that a teenager is a teenager, and I think that with him lies the hope of the future. Now architecture with us is a matter of the future.”

Wright’s sharp humor came out regarding his recently published book (which Wallace had a copy of and Wright claimed not to have seen), self-exiled Charlie Chaplin, intellectuals, his voting record in the last Presidential election, and Marilyn Monroe’s acting ability. He waxed eloquent on the role of architecture to “grace the landscape” and change the character of individual lives. He lamented that American culture had become “drenched” in sex “from the bottom up”. He loved the “Russian spirit” of the Soviet people but hated their communist government. He felt strongly about the principles enumerated in our Declaration of Independence.

Wallace asked Wright to share the “something” he lived by. Wright replied, “The answer is within yourself . . . . And Jesus said it, I think, when he said, ‘The Kingdom of God is within you’ . . . . That’s where humanity lies, that’s where the future we’re going to have lies. If we are ever going to amount to anything it’s there now, and all we have to do is develop it.”

Can technology change the lives of suburban husbands and wives? You bet!

In 1957, Simplicity Manufacturing Company of Port Washington, Wisconsin rolled out its first riding tractor – the Wonder Boy X-100. This was no ordinary riding tractor, however. Packed under its metal hood and plastic dome resided an all-purpose lawn system for mowing, weeding, fertilizing, seeding, and pest spraying. It could be used as a snow plow and as a tractor for hauling other equipment. Its on-board electric-generating system provided the driver air-conditioned comfort from atop an air foam cushioned seat, along with a radio telephone and drink-chilling system. Savings in lawn maintenance time could allow its lucky owners to get in an early round on the links. Just snap on the Wonder Boy’s running lights and drive it off to the course as a golf cart.

Simplicity’s promotional photo illustrated not only the mower of the future, but something of gender roles of the future. While a man relaxes with his pipe and a drink, a stylish woman confidently pilots the marvel from a space-age cockpit.

In 1957, some men still shed their whiskers with safety razors and Barbasol. My father and grandfather had converted to electric razors that plugged into the wall with springy cords like telephones.

I never watched my father shave. He was, and continues to be, a very private man. But I have very fond memories of my grandfather singing in the bathroom, accompanied by a fiercely businesslike buzzing.

When I was a young child, I lived with my grandparents on the weekends. I the mornings, I would keep my grandmother company in the kitchen while she made breakfast. There was a small bathroom off the kitchen at their house, between the kitchen and the stairs – down to the basement or up to the garage. While my grandmother made poached eggs and toast, my grandfather would pass through the kitchen and go into the bathroom, which was flooded with sunshine early in the day. Fit and trim, he would be wearing a white ribbed tank top and pleated tan trousers held up by suspenders. He was always a dapper guy.

He was also a barbershop tenor and not shy about filling the house with song. His singing, the buzzing shaver, and the warm smells of breakfast combined into feelings of joy. My grandfather and I had a little ritual after he was done shaving that we truly relished. It had started somewhere back in my fuzzy past (fuzzy to me). When the shaving was done, he would splash aftershave on his hands and briskly pat his cheeks and neck. He would come out into the kitchen and let me smell his aftershave, and then we’d say together, “WOW!” At some time, little me had wow! about his aftershave, and it stuck.

As for brands of aftershave, my father used Old Spice (which I just learned was originally intended as a fragrance for women).

My grandfather was always – as the ads used to say – an “Aqua-Velva Man.”

How is life in America significantly different than it was in 1957? How is it significantly the same?

First, a significant difference: our political climate in 2018 is hyper-polarized. Politicians and pundits pride themselves on their strongly-held views, whether liberal or conservative. They stress their unwillingness to compromise, seeing it as a matter of integrity and dedication to principle. Voters use litmus-test issues to guide their choice of candidates. Tendencies for media outlets to lean left or right have led to charges of “fake news” and growing distrust in reportage in general.

In 1957, President Eisenhower was serving his second term, having been elected in 1952 on a deliberately moderate ticket. He promised to “get things done” by working cooperatively with those in his party and across the aisle. Strong anti-Communist Richard Nixon was added to the ticket as Vice President in a token nod to the more conservative side of the Republican party. Eisenhower did not particularly like Nixon nor seek his input. The memory and record of former President Franklin D. Roosevelt, a Democrat, was still widely respected by the public. Americans counted on the news – think Walter Cronkite – for fair and impartial information.

Next, a significant similarity: advances in technology were both eagerly welcomed and deeply feared. Today, new Apple products and other high-tech gear are embraced quickly. Brand loyalty and identification create communities of adherents. Social media, online banking, self-driving cars, drones, video-streaming, and fitness trackers all have a following. And yet, we are wary of what might happen with our digital footprint if bad actors gain access. How safe are we? Who is listening and watching and what will they do with what they learn?

In 1957, Americans were also eager adopters of new high-tech products. Food industry innovation responded to the consumer desire for convenience foods. New packaged products included Minute Rice, canned tuna, Jif peanut butter, and Tang. New cold-processing technology made frozen dinners, fruit and vegetables, waffles, and turkeys ready to purchase year-round. Developments in the space program were counting down to putting a man in orbit. Television broadcasting expanded into almost every living room and kitchens began humming with appliances. And yet, it was the Atomic Age of nuclear weapons – and there was no putting the genie back in the bottle. More powerful bombs were being developed and tested and stockpiles were growing. The Soviet Union was a direct Cold War threat, looming over the Artic pole. The potential for incoming ICBMs had everyone practicing “duck and cover”.

Would the Americans of 1957 be surprised that we haven’t found a way to better cooperate politically? Would they also be surprised that we still haven’t better resolved our love-fear relationship with science and technology?

On July 27, 1957, many housewives across America may have taken advantage of a warm, summer Saturday afternoon to defrost the fridge. Mass production of refrigerators for household use had begun shortly after the end of World War II. By 1955, roughly 80% of American homes had replaced their iceboxes with large, humming, porcelain-covered, cooling and freezing machines. But in 1957, “frost-free” was still in the future for most owners of this modern appliance. When ice built up around the coolant coils there was only one thing to do.

Step one: unplug the fridge. Step two: remove all the food from both the main compartment and the freezer. Step three: place a large pan under the freezer coils to catch the melting icewater. Step four: keep checking the pan and empty it before it overflows. Step five: when the freezer coils are free of ice, clean and wipe down the inside of both compartments, replace any food items, and plug the fridge back in. All done!

The best timing for defrosting the fridge would be just before a trip to the grocery store, when food supplies were growing low. Packing remaining food in ice could help preserve valuable items. After this periodic chore was over, it was time to go to the grocery store to stock up on more supplies of meat, dairy, and vegetables.

On July 14, 1957, a National Gallery of Art exhibit celebrating the centennial of the American Institute of Architects, “One Hundred Years of Architecture in America“, came to a successful close. Organized and directed by architectural historian Frederick Gutheim, the exhibit broke ground at the Gallery in several ways: its first modern installation; first photographic exhibition; and first temporary exhibition. The displays included ten giant illuminated color transparencies (some as large as 14 by 24 feet, courtesy of Eastman Kodak) of contemporary buildings, over 200 masonite panels mounted with historic photographs of 65 buildings, and a collection of architectural drawings documenting the contribution of architects to the graphic arts.

An especially popular portion of the exhibit were 91 colorful embroidered and pieced panels depicting themes from biblical quotations about architecture. Proposed for inclusion by California designer Charles Eames, the panels were created by Sisters Magdalene Mary and Mary Corita and their art classes at Immaculate Heart College, Los Angeles. A catalog, 1857-1957: One Hundred Years of Architecture in America, by Frederick Gutheim, was published by Reinhold Publishing of New York.

Red Rocks Amphitheater

David B. Gamble House

The scenic Red Rocks Amphitheater, set amidst large rock slabs, was selected by the AIA to represent the state of Colorado at the exhibit. Built in 1941 in Morrison, Colorado and designed by Denver architect Burnham Hoyt, the venue offers concert performers and goers nearly perfect acoustics. The centennial exhibit also honored the work of Pasadena, California brothers and architects Charles Sumner Greene and Henry Mather Greene, famous for their Arts and Crafts esthetic and bungalow designs. The National Historic Landmark David B. Gamble House in Pasadena, designed by the Greenes and constructed in 1908-1909, is considered one of the finest examples of residential architecture in the United States.

One of the largest – and most controversial – government projects of the 1950s and 1960s was the construction of Arizona’s Glen Canyon Dam and the ensuing creation of Lake Powell. Those in favor of sufficient supplies of water and electric power for the western states, and those in favor of preserving our nation’s natural landscape were in conflict from the very beginning of the project and continue so to this day.

Page, Arizona in 1958

Page, Arizona today

Situated on Manson Mesa, overlooking the Glen Canyon Dam and Lake Powell, Page, Arizona has grown from a temporary tract of trailers to a city of over 7500 people. The original trailer community, know initially as Government Camp, formed in 1957 to provide housing for project workers and their families. Additional land was added in 1958, after a 24 square-mile land swap with the nearby Navajo Nation. Streets were laid out as part of a plan for future housing, shops, schools and churches. From the start of construction in 1956 until completion of the dam, power station and associated infrastructure in 1966, lives were lived and memories were created by families drawn to an outpost on the wild and beautiful border of Utah and Arizona.

One of those families belonged to Mike Adams. Mike’s father was a pilot and their first home was at the airport. They arrived in 1959 or 1960, Mike recalls, and he started attending 1st grade. His family moved quite a bit, including time in trailer courts (where he watched the Beatles on Ed Sullivan), apartments, and park ranger housing. When he was in high school, the family moved into a house his father built on Date Street and First Ave. As Mike writes in his blog, his “first bike, first girlfriend, first job, first bank account, first car, first home of my own, and first wife (and only wife – we’re still married)” all happened in Page, as the town came to be called in 1975. He no longer lives there but he has found a way to reconnect with his past and his friends through his photo blog of Page history.

With his permission, here are a few of the great photos he and his friends have shared on his site: